


you carved open my heart

by byronicmaiden



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Heathers, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, the heathers/phantom au that no one asked for but me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-05 06:07:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11007561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byronicmaiden/pseuds/byronicmaiden
Summary: He stared at her for a long while, studying. He reached up and took one of her crunchy brunette curls in his fingers, pulled and released it so it bounced like a spring.Slowly, he drew his hand away. She stared down at him, silent, her eyes pouring into his. The bustling cafeteria felt quiet, like they were the only two in the whole school. In the whole world.— aka a phantom of the opera/heathers au.





	1. beautiful

Christine kept one hand on Sorelli's back, using the other to keep her black hair from falling into the vomit she was coughing up.

Sorelli hacked loudly, clutched the metal bars on either side of the stall until her knuckles went white.

Christine heard Carlotta's high laugh, smug and birdlike.

"Grow up, Sorelli," She said in between wiping strawberry lipgloss from her teeth. "Bulimia is _so_ '87."

"Maybe you should see a doctor, Sorelli." Meg, the blonde perched on the sink counter added. She sounded genuinely concerned- rare for Meg.

"Yeah, Meg," Sorelli pulled away from the toilet and rested against the stall, heaving, vomit at the corner of her mouth. "Maybe I should."

Christine stayed silent. She took her friends hand reassuringly, then ripped off a wad of toilet tissue and wiped at Sorelli's mouth.

* * *

The cafeteria was hot. The cafeteria was always hot, though, so what was different about this time? But Christine felt a different kind of hotness today; a witchy kind of hotness, thick and dark. The kind of hot you can hardly see through.

Luckily, though, Christine could see through it— and she could see a boy across the room, sitting at an empty table, eyes glued to her.

"Drool much, Christine?" Meg giggled, the other girls joining in.

"His name's Erik," Meg said, "He's in my American History."

 _Erik_ , Christine thought. _Erik. Erik, Erik, Erik._

He was dark-haired and pale-skinned, like a vampire in his heavy black coat, the collars popped up, Dracula-style.

"Really, Christine? He's not even cute." Said Carlotta, bored, her mind on more important things.

She was, admittedly, right. He wasn't all that cute. And then, there was the matter of-

"What's that thing on his face?" Carlotta asked, arching her eyebrow. Christine looked at Erik, his eyes still on her, and noticed something black covering half of his face.

"Pretty spooky, right?" Meg said, drawing out the o's like a child telling a ghost story. "He's always wearing it. Never takes it off."

"Why?" Christine asked as the group of girls walked to their table. She could still feel Spooky Erik's eyes on the back of her head.

Meg shrugged. "No idea."

"I heard he had to get special permission to wear it, that it was this whole big thing." Sorelli said.

"And where did you hear that?" Carlotta asked, glaring at brave Sorelli, who dared to speak.

"Just, y'know," Sorelli began fiddling with a bracelet. "Around."

"Please! You didn't hear it anywhere, you just made it up. That's ridiculous, anyway, why would he need special permission to wear that thing?"

Sorelli said nothing, just sank down into her seat, fascinated by her bracelet.

"I'm gonna go say Hi." Christine said, standing from her seat. She turned and met his gaze again. He hadn't stopped looking at her the whole time. Her skin buzzed beneath her clothes.

"Don't do it, Chris!" Meg called after her, like a horror movie star. "Don't talk to the weirdo!"

The three girls burst out laughing, even silent Sorelli. Christine rolled her eyes and hoped he didn't hear.

As she got closer, he started smiling. Christine rather liked his smile.

"Hello, Erik." She drummed her fingers against the back of the chair in front of her.

"Greetings and salutations," His voice was low, lower than most boys. He had a pair of headphones resting around his neck and bright hazel eyes and a scar peeking out of his shirt collar. "Are you with them?" He gestured to her friends.

"No. Not really."

"You could've fooled me."

Christine sighed.

"I mean, I hang out with them, but I'm not- one of them, I guess."

"I see," He nodded. "You hate them, and you're only friends with them for…popularity?"

Christine laughed. She should've felt bad, should've said, _no, that's not true, they're my friends, I love them_.

"You're smart." She extended a hand for him to shake. "I'm Christine," He took her hand and shook it gently. "Daaé." She added.

"Daaé…that's Swedish, right?"

She nodded. "Mhm. On my dad's side. We moved here when I was two."

He stared at her for a long while, studying. He reached up and took one of her crunchy brunette curls in his fingers, pulled and released it so it bounced like a spring.

Slowly, he drew his hand away. She stared down at him, silent, her eyes pouring into his. The bustling cafeteria felt quiet, like they were the only two in the whole school. In the whole world.

"Chris- _tine!_ " Carlotta shrieked across the cafeteria, breaking their bubble. "Come on!"

"Her Majesty needs me. Later."

"Definitely."

Christine was halfway back to her table when she was stopped by a sharp jab to her hip.

"Oh my gosh, Christine! I'm so sorry!"

Christine clutched her stinging hip and looked down to see her old best friend. He still had his thick-rimmed glasses, perfectly clear, not a smudge on them. She never knew how he kept them like that.

"Raoul- God, it's fine, I'm okay, I should be apologizing to you."

He smiled and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Hey, I'm- I'm sorry I missed your birthday. I wanted to go, really."

He waved his hand. "Don't be silly, it's fine. Your dad said you had a really big date." He picked at a loose string on the sleeve of his lilac sweater. "I think I'd probably miss my own birthday for a date."

"Don't say that," She took his hand and squeezed it. She hadn't held his hand in years. She hadn't even had a real conversation with him in years.

"Christine!" Carlotta's voice shrieked in Christine's ear. "Are you brain dead? I told you to get your ass over to the table," She gritted her teeth. "Now."

She yanked Christine's hand from Raoul's and grabbed her by the wrist, hard.

"She's a bit busy right now. Sorry, Ralph."

"Raoul." He corrected, quietly, not looking at her.

Carlotta rolled her eyes and yanked Christine back to the table. "Whatever."

"What the hell, Carlotta? I was talking to someone."

Carlotta rolled her eyes. "Your dweeb boyfriend?"

Meg and Sorelli giggled, Meg batting her eyelashes and twirling a blonde curl mockingly.

"He's not my boyfriend. And what do you have against Raoul de Chagny, anyway?"

"What do you have for him?"

Christine folded her arms across her chest, slumped into her chair.

"How was Morticia?" Meg asked, eyeing Erik, waggling an eyebrow.

Christine glanced back at Erik, who was leaned back in his chair, headphones on, eyes shut.

"He was cool. Not like most guys around here."

"There's no way he doesn't have at least one ex-girlfriend buried in his backyard." Sorelli said.

"No, he wasn't like that. He seems sweet. A bit rough around the edges. But I think he's harmless."

A girl a couple tables behind shriek-squealed, like a pig, and Meg gasped.

Christine whirled around and heard the unmistakable sound of two gunshots, bang-bang, being fired off. The last thing she saw before being knocked to the ground was Erik, smoking gun in hand.


	2. freeze your brain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for very brief mentions of date rape in paragraph thirteen

_Thwack_. Sorelli's green croquet ball shot across Christine's bright, magazine-editorial lawn.

"God, they won't expel him! He'll probably just get a couple weeks detention, minor suspension at best." Meg said.

"He used a real gun," Carlotta spun the shaft of her mallet between her hands. "They should throw his ass in jail."

"No way," said Christine from her spot across the lawn, her mallet resting across her shoulders. "He used blanks. All Erik really managed to do was ruin Phillipe de Chagny and Joesph Buequet's pants."

Meg laughed, one short _ha_!

"Maybe not even that. Can you bleach out urine stains?"

Sorelli smiled wide, her nose crinkling.

"You seem pretty amused, Christine. Isn't Phillipe your little boyfriend's brother?" Carlotta asked.

"Yep. But he also can be a major asshole. He used to tease me whenever I was over at their house. Kick my toys, call me names. Dick."

"I thought Joseph Buquet dropped out Sophomore year?" Said Sorelli, picking under her nail.

"He didn't drop out, he got kicked out," Carlotta said, smug. "The school gave him a job doing janitor shit last year, said it would help _straighten him out_. Like community service. They don't pay him, but they don't send him to jail either."

"They should," added Sorelli. "He shouldn't be allowed anywhere near the school after what he did to Meg."

Meg's face went red. She lowered her gaze, staring at the ground. Christine had found Meg in Joseph Buquet's bedroom at a party, the sheets stained red, Meg dizzily drunk and still bleeding hours after it happened.

"So, what's it gonna be, Carlotta?" Sorelli asked, changing the subject. "Take the two shots or send me out?"

Carlotta turned to her. "Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?"

Sorelli blinked at her, silent.

"Whatever," She narrowed her eyes at Sorelli, staring at her like some disgusting thing, something to be thrown out. Christine watched the power-play, silent.

"Big night tonight!" Meg interjected, terribly cheerful. "You and Chris's first college party. Are you guys excited?"

Carlotta smiled, waltzed away from Sorelli.

"Mhm. Think you can handle it, Christine?"

"I think I can handle it." Christine smiled. Carlotta smiled back. Genuine.

"Meg!" Christine's father's voice called across the yard. "Your mother is here!"

"Coming! Who wants a ride?"

Carlotta, Meg and Sorelli departed, leaving Christine on the croquet equipment-spotted lawn.

"Your friends know they can clean up their mess, right?" Gustave Daaé smiled, hands in his pockets.

"You know they don't care."

He put his arm around Christine and the pair walked to the patio.

"I'm glad you're making friends, Christine. Really, I am. I know you were worried about that after the move," Christine nodded. "But…these girls? Are they really your type? What happened to that sweet boy you used to hang out with? The French one?"

"I like my friends, Dad," A lie. "And they like me. You don't get to control who I hang out with."

Gustave pulled his arm away. "I know. You're right. I'm sorry."

Christine looked at the ground, stared at her black Mary Janes.

"I've gotta go. Get ready for the party."

"You've just changed so much," he said, pulling her back from the house. "Your accent. Your hair. And now, you're just acting so…like all these other girls. I miss you, Christine."

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't want to be a freak anymore. Did you ever consider that?"

* * *

The neon orange and green sign of the 7/11 coated the parking lot in candy colors. Christine climbed from Carlotta's hot pink Ford, a Barbie car come to life, and rubbed her arms for warmth. When the sun set, Sherwood got chilly, fast.

Carlotta popped her head out of the car and shouted, "CornNuts!"

"Plain or B-Q?" Christine called across the empty lot.

"B-Q!"

Christine thumbs-upped and swung the door open.

She took in the familiar site of the 7/11. The whirring slushie machine, the acne-pocked boy behind the counter, the aisles of plastic-wrapped junk food. She reached for a packet of CornNuts.

"Are you going to want a slushie with that?"

She spun around.

Erik was a stark contrast to the store, black duster and dark hair standing out against the bright plastic landscape. She smiled, happy to know he hadn't been arrested.

"No, but if you're nice I'll let you buy me a soda." He smiled at her, took a Twizzler from her package, bit the end off one.

"That thing you pulled today was pretty severe."

His headphones were still rested around his neck, the cord running down into his pocket.

"I like to think the extreme always makes an impression."

He reached for a plastic cup. "Raspberry or Coke?"

"Neither. I said soda."

"You can't go to 7/11 for a soda," He pulled the lever of the machine, the thick, artificial blue sludge pouring out. "I think you'll like it." He clicked a sphere lid on the cup and held it out to Christine. "Blue. It matches your dress." She rolled her eyes, then took it.

"You seem to know your connivence speak pretty well." She held the slushie by her side, not drinking it.

"I've been moved around my whole life. My mom's job takes us to some strange places. I've been from Las Vegas to New York, and every town's had a 7/11. Silly, I know, but it's like a…a touchstone, so to speak. Something I can always count on. It keeps me sane." He leaned against the counter and shrugged.

She looked down at her bright blue drink. "I get it," She took a sip, the straw poking the roof of her mouth. "Oh, God. That's…sugary."

Erik laughed. "You get used to it."

"Does your mommy know you drink this crap?"

He smirked. "My mommy doesn't know anything I do, and doesn't care to anymore. Although I doubt she ever did. When my dad was alive, he cared."

She blinked at him. The cold of her cup burned her hand. "Oh. I didn't know about- I'm sorry."

He shrugged again. "It's fine."

She sucked on her straw for a long time, taking a big sip of her slushie.

He stared at her intently, eyes studying every inch of her. She felt awfully uncomfortable.

"You dye your hair." He stated, plainly.

"What?"

"You're naturally blonde. You dye it brown. You don't like looking like a foreigner."

Her face went pink. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear.

"Yeah, so what? I like it like this."

"Your friend likes it like that. The loud one." He gestured to the parking lot. "She pressured you into changing it, didn't she?"

Christine thought back into her first days with Carlotta and the girls, Carlotta constantly chiding her to dye her pale Swedish hair. _It'll look better, trust me, aren't you sick of sticking out, like a freak? Besides, you clash with Meg, she's already our blonde._ Except Meg naturally had black hair. Carlotta pressured her to dye it when she was a freshman.

Christine thought back to the look on her father's face when she walked downstairs with her freshly-dark hair.

"That's a bit hypocritical. Should you really be talking?" She tapped a pearl colored nail on his mask- this one was white- and he jumped back.

"That's different. And don't touch that." His tone was suddenly serious, dark.

"Sorry," She said, embarrassed.

"My point was, you shouldn't hide your hair. I have a feeling it's absolutely beautiful."

Carlotta slammed on her car horn and Christine jumped.

Christine slid the lanky cashier, who didn't mumble a word, a few dollars and left with Erik, her slushie, and Carlotta's CornNuts.

The sun was completely down, the only light being the 7/11's neon.

"Cool bike," Erik leaned against a black motorcycle Christine couldn't name by brand and pulled out a cigarette.

"A perk of my mom's deconstruction company."

"Deconstruction?"

"People hire her to tear down old buildings and the like."

Christine thought for a minute. "Wait- is it _Charlotte Construction_? I love those commercials! 'Bringing every state to a higher state'."

He nodded. "That's her. She likes breaking things so much, I suppose she decided to go into it professionally."

Christine went quiet, chewed on her straw.

"It's fine. Everyone's life has static."

"I get it. My life isn't perfect either."

 _Honk!_ Carlotta glared at Christine across the parking lot, mouthed _Come. On_. She made no acknowledgement of Erik.

"For example, I don't really like my friends."

He huffed out some smoke. "I don't particularly like your friends either."

The two chuckled slightly, even if the subject matter wasn't really funny, just the way he said it was.

"It's just like…they're people I work with, and our job is being popular and shit."

He reached up and repeated the motion from the cafeteria; pinched a single curl in his fingers and pulled it gently, not enough to hurt, not enough to really feel it at all, and stretched it straight. Then, he let go, let it bounce back into the rest of her hair.

"Then maybe," He drew his words out like a film noir star and blew smoke in her face. "It's time to take a vacation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the best part of this fic? all these 80s american teenagers have old fashioned european names for some reason.


	3. dead girl walking

_Dear Diary, I want to kill._

The party had started out fine. College kids with beers dancing and sloppily kissing, boys with their arms shoved up girls skirts, Carlotta and her date slipping off to some back room and leaving Christine with the greasy boy she'd been set up with.

Christine was tucked in the coat room, curled on the couch, flicking her lighter on and off. Slowly, she lowered her palm on top of the flame, just enough for it to burn the top layer of skin.

The boy who's name she never learned, drunkenly grabbed her and shoved her onto the pile of coats covering the couch. She elbowed him hard, scratched across his face.

Running from the coat room, she grabbed Carlotta's arm, clinging to her.

Her stomach turned and flipped, her head swimming.

"Carlotta…I want to leave…I don't feel so well, I need to go, please-"

"No!" Carlotta smacked Christine's hands away. Christine stumbled back, banging her head on the wall. "Hell no!"

Christine wrapped her arms around her stomach as her vision blurred. Vomit rose in her throat and she doubled over, a mixture of blue slushie and chewed Twizzler smacking the carpet, splashing onto Carlotta's high-heels.

Her ears rung. All she could hear was her panting and Carlotta's cruel laugh. Carlotta grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her outside.

Christine fell to the ground, the cool pavement easing her sick, feverish body. She covered her eyes, the soft glow coming from the party burning her eyes.

Carlotta yanked her to her feet and Christine stumbled to the wall, steadying herself with a metal trash can.

"You stupid fuck," She spat.

Christine wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Mascara streaked down her cheeks, plum colored lipgloss smeared beside her mouth. "You goddamn bitch!"

"You were nothing before you met me. I got you into a Remington party, and where is my thanks? It's on the hallway carpet. I got paid in puke!" Her voice was like nails in Christine's ears.

"Lick it up, baby. Lick it up."

Carlotta went silent, terrifyingly calm.

"Monday morning, you're history. Transfer to Washington, transfer to Jefferson. You're finished."

Christine shoved the garbage can she was holding on to. It tumbled to the ground, rolling across the alleyway. She looked up and caught a glimpse of Carlotta's red ponytail swinging as she strutted back inside.

She crumbled to the ground and started to cry. She was drunk. She was sick. And, in a few hours, her life would be over.

Eventually, her mind started to calm and she stopped coughing up candy-colored vomit. She climbed from the dark alley and tried to remember the way home.

Her neighborhood was pitch black. Was it her neighborhood? Nothing looked familiar, she didn't see her house or her car parked in the driveway.

Grass, wet grass beneath her knees, soaking into her knee highs. She was in someone's lawn. She fell on her back and ran her fingers through the grass. It soaked her clothes and hair and felt like a thousand needles.

She looked up at the house she lay beneath. It was tiny, crumbling, only one-story, nothing like the houses in her neighborhood. All the lights were off, except the far left one. A bedroom, and in the middle of it, a boy.

Erik.

He was peeling off a black t-shirt. His arms were long and lanky, he was skinnier than he looked under that coat, his ribs poking out.

 _Maybe it's time to take a vacation_ , he'd said. Maybe he was right.

Before she knew it, she was fumbling with the lock on his window, her drunk mind distorting the latch into three latches. Finally, it clicked, and she slid open the window pane. He had no window screen. If she were sober, she might've asked why. Might've.

His lights were off. He was laying in bed, an arm draped over his eyes.

"Hey," She whispered. "Erik. Erik, are you awake? It's me."

He shot up, whirled around, then grabbed a pair of scissors from his nightstand and pointed them at her. She wondered how he could see her in the dark.

"Christine?" He lowered the scissors a bit. "Why are you here?"

She put a finger to her lips and _shhhh_ 'd him. "Sorry, did I wake you? Never mind. It doesn't matter. Come here, put those away."

She reached for the scissors. He held tightly to them, but eventually let her take them. She dropped them to the floor, with a loud clunk.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him back into bed, kissing him hard, messing his hair.

"What- what are you doing?"

"Carlotta says she's ruining my life on Monday. I need to have some fun. Alright?"

He nodded. "Alright."

She brushed her fingers over his mask- why was he wearing it alone in his room?- and pulled it an inch off his face, until he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her hand away.

"No. Leave it."

She nodded and cupped his face, pulling him towards her. He kissed back, softly, nervously. She guided his hands up her thighs, under her miniskirt. She yanked open her shirt, the buttons flying to the floor.

"Kiss me," She panted. "I haven't kissed a boy I actually like in months."

He pulled away from the kiss. "You like me?"

She giggled. "Of course I like you. We're making out, right?"

"Oh. Right."

She laughed again and shoved him against the bed. He pulled her panties, white and lacy, down to her ankles and slid under her skirt, her legs on either side of his head.

She gasped, grabbed his headboard.

"You shouldn't…you shouldn't wear that mask…" She said between moans.

"What?"

"You said…you said I shouldn't dye my hair, said you were sure I was beautiful…I bet you're beautiful, too."

He shifted positions so she was on his lap.

"I'm not beautiful, Christine," He kissed lightly at her chest, sharp nails digging into her plump teen-girl thighs, the result of too many potato chips and Diet Cokes. "I will never be. But you, you are beautiful. The most beautiful thing in this filthy world. And together, you and I, we are beautiful."

She lifted her skirt and guided him into her. He was so nervous, practically shaking, so sweet. They both gasped, her a bit louder. One of his hands was on her waist, the other squeezing her left breast, his mouth on her neck. His sharp teeth prodded and poked into her skin. He thrusted, hard. His hand moved from her breast to her throat to her lips, fingers smearing her lipgloss, slipping into her mouth.

"You're right," She panted. "The most beautiful thing in the world."

It was her first time, probably his too, she'd never let any of those boys Carlotta set her up with get anywhere near her. She'd dreamed of it for years; her and a boy in bed or in the shower or on the couch or maybe outside, panties around her ankles, his mouth on every inch of her, him buried in her. It was everything she'd imagined, better than any wet dream or shower masturbation. It was a hazy dream, a fairytale.

It was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOT WOOT I FINALLY WROTE ERISTINE SEX

**Author's Note:**

> so...yeah. i have no idea what compelled me to write this, other than that heathers is my absolute favorite movie of all time, and the parallels between eristine and jdronica are THERE. this is mostly inspired by the movie, with some obvious influence from the musical (like the title). speaking of titles, the chapter titles will typically be song titles, though not always. anyways enjoy this wack ass au. and i'm sorry it's like...all dialogue lmao.


End file.
